


Happiest Birthday

by EllieL



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Cake, Birthday Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Birthday Snape, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: No one has acknowledged his birthday all day--just as he prefers. But when he returns to his rooms, Hermione is waiting to celebrate with him.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	Happiest Birthday

The day had gone exactly as his days always did, in that the students were marginally attentive and only caused one cauldron to melt and narrowly avoided a second degree burn; meanwhile, the rest of the staff managed not to acknowledge the day at all during the staff meeting. Even Minerva, who  _ knew _ it was his birthday and nearly always insisted on doing something that made him want to hex her, like serving birthday cake at dinner--always layers of vanilla cake decorated with sickly sweet white frosting and green hundreds and thousands. Yet tonight there had not been, no out of the ordinary pudding at all, not a candle or a song or a word from anyone. 

It had been glorious.

But when he returned to his quarters after dinner, Hermione was there waiting for him. She’d clearly just come straight through from St. Mungo’s, still in her Healer’s robes, hair slightly frizzed out of it’s usual neat knot. But a cake sat on the table before her, lit not with the flaming monstrosity Minerva would have insisted on, but a single warm flame. It was also not the usual school fare either, but something entirely more appealing to him, enrobed in dark chocolate and without fripperies or embellishments.

“Happy birthday, Severus.”

“Thank you, love.” He crossed the room to her side and kissed her once, quickly, before blowing out the single candle. It was, however, one of the blasted Weasley candles, which flickered out for less than a second before reigniting, this time with a green flame. He scowled, then sent an incendio at the entire candle, which set it off in a rain of sparks. “What that necessary though?”

“I like watching you destroy them almost as much as you like destroying them. Why do you think I make sure to get one every year?” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, then handed him a smartly wrapped package. “Just don’t destroy this, I’m not sure another exists.”

While she cut slices of the rich chocolate cake, he carefully unwrapped the silver paper to reveal a battered havana leather book, so worn that the embossed title was no longer legible, the gold leaf long worn away. His fingers traced over the remaining impressions, able to tell by font and leather quality that it was French.

Hermione shed her hideous Healer’s robes, revealing a flattering deep green velvet dress, and settled in beside him with two slices of cake. Nudging one plate towards him but keeping it well clear of the gift wrappings, she tilted her head towards the book, as if she did not already know what it was. She prodded him on the forearm with the dull end of the fork, until he cautiously cradled the manuscript and opened the cover.

With a gasp, he read the title aloud.  _ “Les Artes Venimeux.” _

There was a crinkle at the corner of her twinkling eyes. “Catch your interest?”

“How did you find this? It’s not supposed to exist anymore after it was burned during the Revolution.”

She waggled the fork at him, still bare of cake. “At an antiquarian’s shop while I was at that conference in Quebec.”

“The most productive part of that conference, then.”

“Well you liked the maple syrup too.”

“Syrup has nothing on this.” His fingers caressed the vellum pages as delicately as he caressed her skin, index finger hovering just over the table of contents.

“Eat some of this cake, so I can eat some of it before you run off to the lab to poison something.” There was laughter in her voice as she waved a forkful of chocolate cake at him.

Rather than picking up the utensil in front of him and eating from his own plate, he merely leaned forward and captured her fork in his mouth. She squeaked in protest but there was a smile on her lips. The cake was everything he hoped for, rich and so dark it was nearly bitter, with an unexpected hint of salt in the ganache. Slowly, he released the fork and she pulled it from his mouth as the cake practically melted on his tongue.

“This is perfect.”

“Good.” She ate a bite for herself. “Oh this is good. Though—“

She reached for him, index finger brushing the corner of his mouth to swipe up a bit of the ganache. Before she could do anything else, he enveloped her finger in his lips, sucking lightly then swirling his tongue around it to remove all the chocolate from it. Their eyes met, unblinking, as she slipped her finger from his lips with a wet pop. 

Rather than picking up her fork again, though, she swiped a finger through the ganache and raised it to her own lips, ostentatiously rolling her tongue around and around it before taking it into her own mouth and sucking like a lolly. His eyes widened, but never left hers. 

“It is very good.” Eventually she blinked and blushed, and reached for her fork.

But he stopped her, hand closing around her wrist. Instead, he used his own fork to bring a bite to her mouth. She didn’t hesitate at the gesture, simply closed her mouth around the proffered bite. They proceeded that way for a few alternating bites, until she licked his wrist.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Perhaps once we finish this, there might be something more celebratory than poisons to entertain me.”

She batted her eyes at him, but was barely keeping herself from laughing. “I’m not sure what could be more entertaining to you than poisons.”

“Mmm,” he took another bite of cake. “Definitely more eating will be involved.”

“But it’s your birthday,” she said, licking a bit of ganache off her fork.

“Yes, so shouldn’t I get to do as I like?” He smirked, and portioned up another forkful of cake.

“I suppose you should.” With a smile she ate the last of her smaller piece of cake.

That wouldn’t do at all. Especially as he intended to fully enjoy his birthday treat. Sparing a thought for rare manuscripts, he sent the book to his desk with a hasty flourish of his wand. Then he scooped up some chocolate on a fingertip and brandished it at her, rather ungracefully. He’d intended to swipe it across her lips, but she caught his fingers in her lips.

This time, he didn’t try to hide his groan as her tongue teased his digits. Maybe he didn’t want to do the eating after all; certain parts of his anatomy were certainly very willing to be devoured. He wanted to drop back in his seat, but couldn’t pull himself away from her to do so.

As she so often did, Hermione solved the problem for them. Releasing his fingers but taking his hand, she relied on him to help her balance as she sank to the slate floor and he cast a none-too-subtle cushioning charm for her. Surely the least he could do, he thought, as he did let himself fall back into the chair and she reached for the zip of his trousers. There was something erotic about watching her reaching into his pants for him, even if she did just vanish all of his clothing to the laundry after freeing him.

Her fingers were gentle to start, teasing up and down the length of him, skimming across his thighs, up his abdomen. His skin felt aflame and his cock took notice, rising, seeming to strain towards her fleeting touch like a flower for the sun. When he looked down, he saw the grin on her face as his member twitched towards her; her fingers flitted down his length, following the line of a vein, and further, down to roll his balls in her palm, as one finger teased behind them until he gasped.

“Hermione,” he groaned, struggling to keep his eyes open, watching her focused attentions. It was worth the struggle, though, when she looked up at him with a soft smile and licked her lips, mere millimeters from the tip of his eager prick. She knew all too well how to tease him, though she never left him wanting, and certainly wouldn’t on his birthday.

Instead, she licked her lips again, this time allowing just the tip of her tongue to graze him. It was like a jolt of electricity up his spine, which arched, trying to push him closer to her. She took the hint, fingers surrounding the base of him and holding him steady and throbbingly attentive, before lowering her head, warm breath tickling through his pubic hair before a swipe of her tongue straight up the length of him, curling his toes.

He let out a nearly embarrassing squeak when her mouth finally covered the tip of him, tongue circling and lapping up the moisture waiting there. When she hummed as her lips closed around him, he let his eyes close and his head fall back, losing himself in the feel of her, lips and hands and love all focused on him. 

But too soon, as sensations were only building but nowhere near crescendo, her marvelous lips slid away. He groaned at the loss of her, at the feel of her rising, and opened his eyes. Was she all right? Did she need to stop, or move somewhere more comfortable for both of them? One hand tangled into her her hair, trying to get a look at her face. 

But his look of concern was met with a wicked grin, and she shook her head, reaching for the table. “There’s just a little...something missing from your birthday treat.”

Her voice was husky and the fingers of her other hand never ceased their gentle stroking of him. But all her focus was on the cake, taking a swipe of the dark chocolate ganache on one finger and studying it for half a second before looking at him, as if asking permission. At this point he’d have probably agreed to anything she suggested just to get her lips back on him, but this, so deliciously sweet, was more than agreeable to him. He allowed himself to smile, face relaxing and body easing back into the seat as she turned her focus back to him.

When the ganache, cool as the dungeon’s ambient temperature, touched his heated skin he jumped and shivered, but her hot tongue quickly followed. The substance didn’t spread especially well, but that didn’t seem to deter her, and as her tongue trailed over his skin he didn’t mind in the least. Heat simmered through his body, peaking wherever her tongue burned across his skin, searing down the plane of his abdomen then finally, finally, after another swipe at the cake for more ganache, up his aching, eager cock.

After so much anticipation, it was almost overwhelming when her tongue caressed up the length of him again, then swirled around the end before she plunged down, surrounding him. He struggled to breathe as she began sucking him in earnest, humming around him and swiping intermittently with her tongue and leaving him completely overwhelmed. 

This was usually a prelude for them, not a main event, and he wasn’t certain it was meant to be now. Mustering what little composure he could, he ignored his urge to thrust himself up into her and instead reached for her face, brushing a thumb across her hollow cheek so that she looked up at him. She pulled back far enough that only the head remained surrounded by her lips, allowing her to smile up at him, the sight alone nearly sending him over the edge before she began to suck again in earnest.

All feeling in his body seemed to drain away, until nothing was left except the sensation of her mouth around him. Severus knew his fingers were tangling in her curls and huffing, crying pants of “Her-Her-Her-“ were choking out of him, but he had no voluntary control over any of that. One of her hands continued working the base of him, as the other cupped his rising balls, one finger brushing back occasionally against his taint. When the tenor of his cries changed to something wordless and almost strangled, she redoubled her efforts. 

“Oh, Her—“ he tried to warm her, tried tugging up at her hair as everything in his body sought to erupt like Vesuvius. His hips ceased to respond to his brain’s command, thrusting and seeking wildly, but perfect Hermione followed right along with him, lips never leaving him.

She continued undeterred as he could no longer help but collapse under her, nearly falling from the chair, helpless to do anything beyond appreciate the exquisite, almost overwhelming feeling of her careful attentions as she eased her ministrations. He managed, after a moment, to begin stroking her hair, down across her cheek. When she paused and rested her head on his thigh, catching her own breath, his thumb stroked across her cheekbone. His thumb brushed the corner of her smile, and the tip of her tongue popped out to give it a quick taste, though clearly neither were up for more at the moment.

“I—I might,” he said, clearing his throat, “fancy a bath.”

“That does sound like a rather brilliant idea.” She supported herself on one of his thighs as she stood on slightly stiff knees. Before she could take a step away, though, he caught her hand and pulled her in for a deep, slow kiss that left them both breathless again. 

Then he was standing, arms around her, appreciating the lush velvet of her dress against his bare skin almost as much as he appreciated her silky skin against his. “Why don’t you go get undressed, and I’ll draw it for us?”

Her hand lingered in his arse for a moment, as she kissed him again, then sashayed off to the bedroom, hips swinging far more than usual. Smiling as only the truly satisfied could, he sauntered off to the bath, turning on the taps and pouring his favored scents—spearmint and vanilla—into the bubbling water. He sank into the deep tub with a sigh, planning his seduction of Hermione once she joined him.

But after a long day of teaching and brewing and grading, the orgasm had tossed him over the top, and he dozed off before she was even in the room. He missed her indulgent smile as she decided to let him soak a bit while she showered. He barely stirred when she levitated him out of the tub, cast a gentle drying spell, and sent him straight to bed. His wife was probably the only person on Earth who could cast on him and not rouse him straight to high alert.

Now, he celebrated his birthday by rolling over, half asleep, and draping his arm around the witch who’d so indulgently taken care of him that evening. 

“Happy birthday, love,” she whispered into his ear, before drifting off to sleep.

“Happiest,” he mumbled, drifting back off himself.


End file.
